Beautiful Beasts

4. Cannelle

ADAM

"In gold? We have plenty of wax, Sire."

"Yes, gold." I handed Lumiere the candelabra. "Do not question my orders. Melt this down, I've never cared for this one. Take care with the petals."

My servant walked away with slumped shoulders.

The rose had been cut a week ago by that witch, Agathe. I watched it open to full glory on my table over the first few days, and now it was declining in beauty. I wanted it preserved before it started to drop its petals. The idea of watching it rot filled me with horror. If it were to dry up and crumble, surely I would too, and long before I figured out how to break the spell I was under.

No, in order to prevent panic, I had to save this rose from decay. And I had to have the cursed mirror, as well. I hoped Gaston left it behind.

It was odd, walking through his small lodge. I had never seen the inside of it--had never been interested in what the interior was like.

The place was tidy and humble. I spotted the hand mirror with relief, sitting on a rough-hewn table in the kitchen. How out of place it appeared amidst his tools and copper vessels. I wondered why he had taken it home that night, and why he had left it here yesterday. Thank goodness he had, at any rate.

What was I to do with the mirror, or the rose? I had no idea. I'd have to consult the library, or make Cogsworth consult the library, to find out what to do with evil objects. For now, I'd keep them safe in my new quarters.

Transformation of the West Wing was already underway. I wanted Father's things out, and my preferred furniture and decor moved in as soon as possible. My bed was the only thing in position so far.

I closed the door of the lodge behind me, and walked toward the castle. I spied Cogsworth pacing--marching, practically--to and fro in front of the doors. He did this when nervous.

"Cogsworth, I need a table moved to my bedchamber at once. And talk to Lumiere about the rose. I require a stand and glass cloche, and some means of keeping the flower upright." I would not have it lying upon the table like a dead thing. I was shrugging out of my overcoat as I spoke, and threw it at him.

"Very well, Master," came his muffled reply. His head popped free of the coat. "We need to have a meeting. Perhaps before dinner?"

"About what? Moving me into the West Wing should be your highest priority," I growled.

"Oh it is, Sire, it is! There's just some annual business to attend to." If he fiddled with his thin, waxed moustache any more vigorously, I imagined it might break right off in one piece.

"Fine," I huffed as I clomped up the stairs. "I want tea first." 

He ran ahead of me, opening the door. Once I was inside, he scurried off in search of Madame Potts.

I settled into my favorite high-backed chair before the hearth. Looking around to ensure no one was close by, I studied myself in the mirror. The flames gave my ordinary face a pleasant glow; perhaps I looked best fireside. I turned my head left and right in search of flattering angles.

My reverie was interrupted by the humming of Potts. Hastily, I tucked the mirror between my thigh and the velvet interior of the chair. As she wheeled a cart toward me, I spied a letter on the tray.

"What's this?"

"News come from the village," she replied.

I ripped the letter open at once.

Gaston was a hero. He had almost single-handedly saved Villeneuve from a band of Portuguese marauders, just hours after arriving in the village. It was implied he had spared my castle a gruesome fate.